The Life of an  AllAmerican Drug Lord
by NameleSS21
Summary: The rise of AllAmerican drug kingpin Owen Greyson, from his release from Darkwoods Penitentiary in 1967 to the fall of his empire twenty years later. Rated M for violence, language and possibly sexual content.
1. Set me Free

Disclaimer: This story is solely for the purpose of entertainment, I do not own the Grand Theft Auto franchise.

* * *

July 1967. The Summer of Lust. At least that's what everyone's been calling it. I'm finally outside of Darkwoods Penitentiary, America's worst madhouse, and it feels great.

I can't stand Carcer City anymore. I just hate it. It's bleak, dark and overrun with criminals. I have more bad memories then good in this town. During my stay at Darkwoods, I've come to appreciate the beauty in life. Isolation can have weird effects on the human psyche. Photos of flowers and creeks and prairies were what inspired me to keep on going. I need to see something else then skyscrapers, ghettos and subways.

So I've decided to leave Carcer... for good. I stand in a phonebooth outside a gas station, on a lone stretch of highway 17 miles southwest of The Flaming River, a river so polluted you'd think it's an open sewer. And yes, it has been known to catch fire.

I hold the phone against my right ear as I watch the sun dissappear in a sea of red, orange and pink. It's hard to believe that pollution can make such a nice sunset.

''Forget it Owen! You already ruined my reputation during your last visit, I'm not gonna just let you come back, and pretend like it never happened. Besides, I already told you – I'm clean. I haven't done anythin' illegal since Joe was executed. And I never will... ever again.''

''First of all, Joe was caught because he was stupid and impatient. Second, last time was before my stay at Darkwoods, now I'm less like Joe. Third, that's complete bullshit and ya know it! You son of a bitch! You just don't wanna put your boring, suburban ''new life'' in jeopardy. How the fuck can you live like that? You must be brain dead! So forget I ever asked, and FUCK YOU!''.

Before he had the time to reply, I abruptly hang up the phone, almost breaking it. I can't believe he would reject me like that. Matt. My brother. My own flesh and blood. We had lived together on the family farm for years. We had moved to Carcer City together. There we had been partners in crime, doing dirty jobs for a man named Johnathan Muldoon. Meanwhile, our eldest brother Joe was in Vice City doing hits for various mobsters. He had always done things straight-up and dirty, which meant that he always made a scene. Eventually, he was caught red-handed and put to the chair.

After Joe's death, Matt and I went our seperate ways. He moved to Liberty City while I stayed in Carcer.

While I was in the fucking loonie bin, he went to college, married a girl, had a couple of kids and became a lawyer.

Fuck him. I don't need him anyway. I need to find someplace to go. I have cousins in Vice City and Rockden but one's too hot, the other's too cold. I'll just keep driving I guess.

I get back on my brand new '67 Freeway. It's a real man's motorbike. I felt that if I had to travel across the entire country, it had to be on one of these things. All I have now is this bike, the contents of my backpack and the Colt .45 under the seat.

I make my way west and ride into the sunset... I feel like I'm home.

It's now dark, the sun is gone, and I'm getting tired. I come across a motel and stop there. I get off the bike and notice what looks life a flame in a nearby field. I hear a melody being played and words being sung and I wonder what's going. I step into the motel and ask for a room.

''Nice night isn't it?'' says the man across the counter.

''Yeah, cool breeze and everything,'' I reply, ''You know there's some people in the field outside. They're singin' and have a fire goin' and-'' before I could finish my sentence, the man interrupts, '' It's those goddamn hippies! They come 'round here and make themselves at home on private property like it's no big deal! I'd call the sherriff but then they'd just start protestin' and sayin' it's the Mother Earth and that they're allowed and full of bullshit like that! So I've decided to just let them be and if they make too much noise... I take out the shotgun!'' he yells and starts laughing, ''Ya know... come to think of it, they're gettin' pretty damn rowdy. You look like a big man, do ya think you could scare'em away? I'll pay ya.''

I agree. I need the money. He hands me a shotgun from across the counter, ''Make me proud boy.'' he says.

I walk outside, the cool night air embraces my face. I hear the sounds of cars racing by. I smell the campfire that the ''hippies'' have made. And I still don't know what the hell a ''hippy'' is. I guess I missed more than the fresh night air.

I make my way to the field and walk up to one of the hippies. Now I smell more than just the campfire. Marijuana. I know that smell.

''Hey man.'' he says. I notice the way they're dressed and they're long hair. I guess that in the dark I must look like one too. The wind blows my long, dark hair into my face, along with the fumes that I haven't smelled in years. I stare at him and his friends for a few seconds until one of them says something, ''Dude, you goin' to the Free Lust festival?''

I guess none of them have noticed the shotgun yet so I hide it behind my back. ''What's that?'' I ask. ''Dude! Everyone's gonna be there! They've got like, uh, free food, free shelter, free drugs, ya know, free everything dude!''

You know all those old cartoons where someone gets an idea and a light bulb appears over their head? I think I had one of those moments. Right when he said ''free drugs'' the criminal machine inside of me started working again.

''Sounds pretty cool... I guess I'll be there. Where is it?'' I ask. ''Hashbury, San Fierro, San Andreas man. I'll see you there.'' he told me.

Since I haven't payed for the room yet, I decide to keep the shotgun, let the hippies be, and leave. I'll spend the night somewhere else.

Jackson. Skip Jackson. I haven't seen him in years, but I know he hasn't gone soft like Matt. He moved to San Andreas a few years back. I'm sure he'll be happy to hear about such an easy job.

The sun rises gracefully, making me feel so happy to be free. I stand in a phone booth outside a gas station... it feels all too familiar to yesterday, but now I know that I'm making progress. I dial Skip's number and wait for an answer.

''Hello?''

''Hey Skip.''

''Who... holy shit... Owen?! Owen Greyson? Oh my god! I haven't heard from you in so long! How are you?''

''Good, good. Look, we could make small talk all day or we could make money. Have you heard about the Free Lust festival in San Fierro?''

''Uh, yeah. Just like everyone with ears. Some hippy bullshit... what about it?''

''Well, correct me if I'm wrong, but if people from all over the country are goin', it must be big.''

''Got that right''

''Apparently they're givin' out free drugs. So if there's lots of people, there's gotta be lots of drugs.''

''Free drugs? Really? So...''

''So if they're all stoned, it must be pretty damn easy to just walk in there and take everything. Like taking candy from a baby.''

''I see where you're goin' here. Well I just been robbin' places all over the state for the past few years. I guess this would be easy and profitable. I'm in.''

''Good. Where do you live?''

''Down near Angel Pine. It's a small cabin right next to Mount Chiliad. Take the long way up an' you can't miss it. See you soon.''

''I'll be there in a day or two. Bye.''

''Bye.''

I hang up the phone and make my way towards San Andreas.


	2. Summer Nights

Disclaimer: I don't own the Grand Theft Auto franchise, blah blah...

* * *

Here I am. Skip's cabin. I walk up to the door, wondering what to say. The door opens.

''Owen!'' yells Skip, scaring the shit out of me. He hugs me and invites me inside.

He looks much different than the last time I saw him. He has long dirty blonde hair and a goatee. I could barely recognize him. He's muscular now, but still only 5''9.

''I'm so happy to see you man! I can't believe it's already been 5 years. So how was it.'' he asks. ''What?'' I reply. ''It'' could be anything in the world, yet he expects me to know what he means. Typical Skip attitude.

''Darkwoods fuckin' Penitentiary man! What else?'' he tells me. ''I'd prefer not talk about the 5 worst years in my life.'' I say, making him straight-faced and silent. ''Ok, man. I understand,'' he says, nodding, ''It must be even worse when you're not even insane...''

That's true. I'm not insane, and it is worse. You see, I was never a crazy man, perhaps slightly eccentric but nothing more. The problem started almost 6 years ago. A conflict had erupted in the streets...

My former boss, Johnathan Muldoon, had low-level enforcers collecting money from a bar. Once they had exited the bar, they were ambushed by members of a small street gang. They killed all but one of the enforcers, then left him for dead with two fingers missing and a bullet in the knee.

Once Muldoon had heard about this, he went apeshit. He sent Skip and I to burn down the gang hideout, a warehouse near the docks. We arrived at the warehouse around 3 o'clock in the morning. Only a few gang members were there, and all of them, except the lone guard that we snuck by, were sleeping in a small section of the warehouse. So Skip and I soaked the place up in gasoline. We lit up a single match and flames arose all around us.

I opened the door to exit, but a car was in the way. Just my luck. The few minutes that we were in there was when the car had to come... Fuckin' great.

Skip had spotted a door on the other side of the warehouse. He grabbed a fire extinguisher and made a path through the inferno. It took us about 3 minutes to get there. We then opened the door, and there were two patrol cars waiting for us.

Skip still had the extinguisher, so he fogged up the place and we ran. I remember it so clearly. Running in the smoke and fog, Skip telling me to hurry up. Then I felt an intense pain in my foot. I fell down, screaming in pain. Those motherfucking pigs had shot me in the foot. All I saw was Skip cursing aloud, looking back, then fleeing the scene.

I was able to plead insanity. Pyromania. Muldoon had payed off the authorities. I was sent to Darkwoods Penitentiary, they finally let me out 5 years later.

Tonight is the night. It should be a walk in the park. Tommy stops the van about a block away from the tent where the stuff is stashed. Tommy Lazerus is a local getaway driver. Skip works with him often, tonight included.

The tent is filled with marijuana. That's all they have, but it sure beats nothing. We were informed by a man who calls himself ''The Truth''. He's a total nutjob, but a reliable source. He runs a small hippy farm down in Whetstone that grows weed. He doesn't grow a lot, only enough to support him and his friends. He finds it idiotic to give away weed to ''outsiders''.

I get out and walk towards the tent. Skip follows me. My shotgun is concealed in the trenchcoat I'm wearing, but it won't be for long.

I slowly take in the sights and sounds of the festival. It's truly overwhelming. The smell of narcotics intoxicates me so I can't stay for too long; I don't want to end up like them.

It's difficult to walk through the crowd. Every few feet there's people sitting down with guitars or bongs or even sleeping bags. I could hardly hear them speak over the loud rock music being played.

I hear the deafening sound of a shotgun firing a few feet behind me. I hear Skip yell ''Everyone stay calm and don't fuckin' move! Well be out of here in a couple o' minutes and you could all just forget about this, ok?'' I forgot that Skip was so straight-foward. It feels weird being stared at by so many people. People that hate me, people that fear me, people that are confused.

Tommy drives the van up to the tent and Skip and I start loading it up. After a few minutes, the truck is full. We get into the van and speed away.

None of the hippies called the cops, so we had absolutely no trouble whatsoever. I can't believe that was so easy. We unload all the weed into the cabin, then relax.

''Holy shit that was easy.'' says Skip. ''I was able to drive casually almost the whole time, I feel insulted!'' exclaims Tommy.

''Okay, that was easy, but next time we might not have that kind of luck.'' I say. ''What do you mean next time?'' asks Skip. The room fell silent.

''I'm here in San Fierro, and I'm here to stay, this isn't just a one-time gig. Now these hippie-freaks are getting supplied by someone right? All we have to do is make them tell us, and we'll make that benefit us in a way.'' I explain. ''What do ya mean?'' asks Tommy. I light a cigarette and take a long drag.

''What I mean is, depending on how big the operation is, we could either have them supply us, or take them over. Now, we can't do this just like that. It takes time. We'll need to work our way up the ladder, gaining money, power and respect. I'm going for the big leagues here, so I need to know if you guys are in or out.''

''Hell, I ain't got nothing to lose, I'm in.'' says Skip excitedly. We turn our heads towards Tommy. ''We do need cars, right? And those cars need drivers, right? I can get you both, I'm in!'' says Tommy. We crack open a few beers and celebrate.

The following night, Tommy, Skip and I all head to Hashbury. We didn't groom ourselves and wore dirty clothes so we could fit in. We walk towards the tent. There is a lone hippy in the tent and one standing outside giving away the goods.

''Hey man, where do guys get this stuff from?'' I ask, in a hippy-type voice. I sound wasted, but that's how you fit in with these people.

''Like we don't know that kinda stuff dude. Stretch is the one who handles that.'' says the hippy. ''Do you know where he is?'' I ask politely. ''He doesn't wanna be like, disturbed right now.'' Wrong answer. I push the freak down and kick him in the stomach. The other hippy looks at me.

''Woah man, negative vibes, negative vibes!'' he yells. ''Shut the fuck up if you don't want a foot in your ass,'' I yell back, ''now tell me asshole where Stretch is, or else!'' Out of the reactions the hippy could've had, he chose the worst. The faggot starts crying. ''He's in the blue apartment building around the corner man, apartment 13. Please dude, just chill out!'' I spit on him and we make our way towards the building.

''Who are you man?'' asks Stretch, after opening the door. I quickly punch Stretch in the face and he falls to the ground. There are two women in the room and they look scarred. One starts screaming.

''Hey, hey! Look ladies, we don't want trouble. Just calm down and everything will be fine. We just wanna ask your friend Stretch a few questions, okay?''. They both nod their heads and calm down. Skip always had a way with women.

''Hey Owen!'' says Tommy. He points to the table in the middle of the room. There is a bag full of white powder and the three thin white lines next to it.

''Son of a bitch,'' I exclaim, ''Well me an' my friends here just came to ask where you got your marijuana from, but it looks like you have much more than that,'' I learned all about cocaine in Darkwoods. ''I understand dude just relax! We get it from a guy named Lance, but he's only the street dealer. He gets it from Los Santos.'' explains Stretch.

Suddenly, the bathroom door bursts open and a man with a shotgun starts yelling at us. I pull out my Colt 45. and Skip takes out his own shotgun.

''Okay everyone put your gun down slowly.'' I say. Once the man starts to put his gun down, Skip pulls the trigger and blows out his knee cap. The man lies down, screaming in pain. I walk up to him, point the gun at his face, and fire.


End file.
